Lunch at my family home was often an amusing affair, a disturbingly brown-looking bottle of Hock or ‘Lieb’ would make a cameo at the table, my father decided it would go splendidly with the unlucky fowl positioned ready for carving. Champagne for us was not often on rotation unless we had a significant birthday, wedding or landmark moment in the family. This is how many of my friends also describe wine at home (most without the frightening German wine but some with a splendid bottle of, likely oxidised, white Burgundy or unremarkable white claret) but my father was a man of specific taste – only now would I chuckle on my fathers, much-made-of, self-appointed ‘sophistication’.
I began working at Champagne Pol Roger nearly a decade ago (after a brief stint at GH Mumm and Perrier Jouet, only notable purely for the fact that I met my long-suffering wife whilst working there) and it is only at a house like Pol Roger that you notice the small, unique things about Champagne.

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